Reflections of a late leaper

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I find myself listening in those quiet moments after prayer when the voices inside my head have been silenced. It is in those moments that small prayers are answered.

That’s what happened to me last night. I was struggling with what I wanted to write. I knew essentially what I wanted to convey but the flow and the tone just did not feel right. So I prayed on it. I asked God to soften my tone. I asked God to give me the words to convey my feelings without being harsh to others or dishonest to myself. I wanted the words to be honest and kind.

Then, in that quiet moment … I heard “cut the cantaloupe.” Not exactly the words I was looking for. I was looking for something more poetic, more profound. But I did it anyways trusting that somehow there was a reason. So, I began to cut the cantaloupe and, in that moment, my small prayer was answered. The words which evaded me came tumbling down. The flow was effortless. It was honest without being unkind. A small prayer was answered.

It may not seem like a lot but to me it is. You see, those small moments give me hope that my larger prayers will not be left unanswered. It may take longer than I’d like. It may require more patience than I am used to. I may need to continually and consistently ask God for help in matters which appear at times to be unanswerable. But I know He hears them. I know they will not go unanswered forever. I sense that He just wants to know how much this means to me. Or maybe, just maybe, it is His way of reminding me that the most precious gifts never come easy.

Today, I struggled with a feeling I couldn’t immediately identify. It remained in the background while I worked but hit me like a sledgehammer after the day was done. I felt dazed, disoriented, and unsettled. I felt like a rug of plans discussed, expectations raised, and hope was pulled out from under me.

Maybe it is because decisions were made about what was best for me without consultation. Maybe it is because assumptions were made about expectations, obligations, and what was perceived to be inevitable outcomes. Maybe it is because the decision seemed to be based more on fears than anything real. Or maybe it was because its technological delivery was a painful reminder of a not so distant past when my ex-husband told me of his decision to divorce by text message.

I know this decision was made from a place of caring. I recognize that these conversations are difficult. But I can’t help but feel that it was a conversation worth being had. We have a history. Our feelings and connections to each other remain despite the passage of time. We owed it to each other but also to ourselves. We still do.

I don’t know what the outcome would be. But I do know that at least the decision would be based on something real – an actual discussion of our fears, needs, options, and mutual expectations. At least it would be an honest human interaction instead of a technological one.